


I Can Almost Put it Back Together

by behindschedule



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Canon Disabled Character, Depression, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Shaving, Telepathy, slight somnophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindschedule/pseuds/behindschedule
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired entirely by this picture: http://25.media.tumblr.com/84a5bd6c4eeb92a427d35f56beb79603/tumblr_mmncfjJWNO1qku97lo2_500.jpg<br/>about which people are commenting that Charles looks strung-out and depressed; and a conversation about Erik giving Charles a sexy shave. </p><p>Years after the beach divorce, Charles has fallen into a deep depression. Unable to help him, his friends call on Raven and Erik for help; but Charles isn't interested in forgiving and forgetting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Raven POV

**Author's Note:**

> officially dipping my toes into Cherik, because this idea caught hold and wouldn't let go...  
> the rating will kick in for the second chapter. This one is pretty PG13.

Every time they had reason to go to Boston, Raven checked the post office box she rented there: box 2822, nondescript and always, always empty. 

And then one day it wasn’t. 

A lone postcard was perched inside, somewhat worse for its journey with creased corners and a coffee stain across the New York skyline on the front, bleeding through to the postmark. On the back there were three words written in cramped, precise script:

_Charles needs you._

+++

“Raven!” The exclamation was mostly just a gasp; Sean’s arms were around her immediately, as if no time at all had passed. As if they were friends, planning to meet here, and she hadn’t been stalking him for hours waiting on a chance to catch him in a public place like this. “It’s been… it’s been years!” Indeed the people milling about in this grocery store took no more note of them than they would have any other old friends reuniting. Never considering that mutants were in their midst. _Humans._

“You look great,” she said. He did, too. He’d grown into his gangly limbs, learned to tame his wild hair. 

“Speak for yourself!” he replied immediately, and then blanched when he realized that she was wearing her human skin and would probably be offended. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no.” She shook her head. “Thank you. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed everyone.” The “everyone” was a bit pointed; she hoped he would catch it. 

“Oh. So I take it you heard about the professor?” Good, he caught it. “How?”

She brandished the postcard, now even more care-worn than when she’d received it; she had spent many hours just staring at it, hoping that it would somehow contain some hidden message. And then when Erik had seen it… well, Erik was not a calm man. Not when Charles was involved, at least. “I’m guessing it’s from Hank. It looks like his handwriting, but I haven’t seen it in a while.”

Sean nodded. “Yeah, it does. Well. He didn’t lie, at least. About Xavier I mean. But based on that postmark, he sent it almost six months ago. Things have gotten worse since then…”

“Can you take us to him, Sean?”

“Well, I can tr— wait. ‘Us’? ‘Us’ who?” Sean cast around, suddenly as skittish as a rabbit. 

“Us.” Erik stepped out from the nearby aisles. He regarded the younger man for a moment with steely eyes. “Sean.” Slight incline of the head.

“Um. Magneto.” Sean made as if to shake Erik’s hand but then thought better of it, wiped his palm awkwardly on his thigh. “No, uh…” He motioned around his head.

“No helmet. Why? Can you read minds now?” 

“No, but if you wanted to see the professor…”

“We’re here on a goodwill mission,” Raven cut in, trying to ease the tension. “If Charles needs help, we want to help him.”

Sean nodded, eyes flicking from Erik’s face to Raven’s and back. “Well, if Hank thinks it would help… I don’t know, personally. You might just make it worse.”

Erik’s teeth gritted audibly and Sean swallowed. 

“Okay, okay, but don’t say that I didn’t try to warn you.” 

+++

The mansion, at least, was more or less the same; though it now bore a crest on the gate (”Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters”, and damned if she didn’t smile a little at that) and the sounds of young people laughing filled the warm spring air with a jovial feeling. A ball whizzed by as they passed into the yards, chased down by a boy who appeared to be creating ice under his feet to slide on. A white-haired girl made a great sweeping motion and sent a gust of wind to knock the wolf-boy over, sending the ball flying out of his arms.

It seemed that Charles had amassed quite a collection. 

A few of them stopped to watch Sean and his guests curiously, but none of them seemed particularly concerned. How lovely it must be, Raven thought, to live within these walls and not have any fears. And then like being doused with ice water the memory of her own time living here returned: how Charles had protected her. That was just his way. Next to her Erik’s hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, his face completely unreadable.

Unreadable to anyone but Charles. 

Where was he, anyway? Surely he was already aware of them being here, had been since before they’d ever set foot on the property. Why hadn’t he come out to greet them? 

Sean led them into the mansion proper, past a few rooms where it seemed classes were taking place, and into the wing where Charles’ rooms had always been. The nostalgia of it all twisted at her guts; how she missed these long hallways where she and Charles had played and fought as children, had planned their futures down to the last detail. How terribly different things had actually turned out. She stole a glance at Erik and saw that his own face was awash with some emotion, eyes lost to memories. They would probably have made her blush, those memories: they were drawing close to Charles’ bedroom, where he and Erik had spent many a (noisy) night together while they’d all been playing at having a happy family. 

They could hear a voice once outside the door of Charles’ study: Hank. He sounded agitated, louder than necessary. Sean shot Raven an apologetic look. “Well, here you are.” He turned the knob on the door and let it fall open. 

The first thing that hit them was the stench: the smell of an unwashed person: sweat and oil. The reek of alcohol. The heat of the room was next, oppressive, making the smell worse. Raven worked hard to not cover her nose, but couldn’t help the grimace. 

Hank— Beast, now— turned as the door opened. His blue-furred face raced through a series of emotions (shock, joy, relief) before he stepped toward them; and in doing so, cleared the view to Charles. His form was slight, frail. Just a husk of a man, really, curled in on itself against the armrest of the wheelchair. Eyes unseeing. Hair lank and greasy, face unshaven. His clothes were stained with sweat and perhaps food or drink, it was impossible to tell. He seemed to take no notice of them entering the room; in fact Raven would have been worried that he was asleep— or worse, God forbid— if she hadn’t seen his fingers clenching and releasing rhythmically. 

“Raven, you finally came,” Hank was saying, moving toward her, putting a great heavy arm around her shoulders. She barely heard. Next to her Erik was growling lowly in his throat, at what she did not know; but he pushed past her, past Beast, and marched directly to Charles. 

“Charles,” he said, reaching a hand out to his old friend. No reaction at all. Raven, glancing sadly at Beast, moved to Erik’s side, and they looked together down at this man they had once known so well. Her brother.

Her eyes traced over the room, cataloging: books were disheveled, strewn about the floor. Empty bottles littered every cranny. An empty syringe on the table whispered of something far worse. “Charles, it’s— it’s Raven…” she said, then berated herself: of course it was Raven. He wasn’t blind. She reached out to touch his cheek and he flinched away. “Charles…”

“Charles.” Erik closed his hand over the smaller man’s arm, long fingers engulfing it easily. “What’s wrong with you? What have you done?” He turned and glared at Hank and Sean, cowering in the doorway. “What did he do?”

“He’s just… self-medicating,” Beast supplied, not making eye contact. “He’s been doing it for a while now.” 

“What did he take?” 

“Other than the alcohol, I have no idea. He tinkers around with chemicals a lot these days.” 

Raven saw the muscle in Erik’s jaw twitch at that. He was silent for a long moment, hand still gripping Charles’ arm, eyes fixed on Charles’ downcast face. “This is beneath you, Charles,” he said finally, voice rough and sad. “Come on.” With that he leaned forward and scooped Charles up, easily— too easily— and the other man simply dangled there like a doll. “I’m at least going to clean him up,” Erik said to the room at large, though he threw an admonishing look at Beast, as if to say _which you should have been doing_. 

He carried Charles into the adjoining bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them. Left Raven standing, stricken, next to Charles’ empty chair, with Beast and Sean looking at their feet, at the walls, anywhere but her. 

“What happened to him?” she finally asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. 

“You happened to him,” Beast answered. “The two of you.” His voice, as well, was barely a whisper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik really really enjoys cleaning Charles up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a touch of dubcon here because Charles isn't exactly conscious at the start and Erik is very handsy.
> 
> I update my tumblr first (and take prompts!) chainfour.tumblr.com

“If you can hear me, I’m sorry about the indignity,” Erik muttered, hoisting Charles’ unmoving body onto the edge of the massive tub and turning the tap on. He set to removing Charles’ clothes, not an easy task when one arm was occupied with keeping the other man upright. First he got the shoes and socks off; then the somewhat trickier task of unbuttoning the garish shirt, exposing the moon-white skin of Charles’ chest. Each of his ribs cast a shadow, his stomach a dip where it used to be soft and pliant under Erik’s fingers. The memory both made him sad and warmed his loins, though he banished those thoughts quickly (but with difficulty, seeing the sweet pink nubs of Charles’ nipples peaking in the still-chilly air of the bathroom). 

The pants proved to be the hardest, trying to hoist Charles’ hips up to drag them off. He ended up sitting on the edge of the tub behind the other man, Charles more or less in his lap, as he worked the slacks and briefs down the thin thighs. He was careful to ignore the flaccid cock at all costs. 

“Again… sorry…” he said, dumping his friend’s body into the now-full tub. If Charles even noticed, he gave no indication. 

Erik found Charles’ supply of expensive bath products tucked under the sink just as he expected; Charles was nothing if not a gourmand in the bathroom. He started with the hair, because that was most offensive. It was possible it’d been a month since its last proper washing, clumpy and tangled as it was. He poured handfuls of warm water through the matted mess, combed it out with his fingers; then, a palmful of fragrant shampoo in his hand, Erik set to working it into a lather, thick and foamy. Charles used to love this, luxuriate in it: Erik tending to him, caring for him. And Erik loved doing it, the tingling warmth that bestowing affection so freely brought into his veins. Only for Charles. No one before, no one since. He rinsed away the shampoo and added more, working up an even thicker lather, gentling his fingers across Charles’ scalp. After a moment he noticed that Charles’ eyes had slipped shut, the barest ghost of a smile on his lips.

He was in there, after all. 

Once every tangle was free Erik began to rub tender circles against Charles’ neck, unwinding years of tension. Shoulders next; did Charles sigh contentedly then? Perhaps it was just Erik’s imagination. He reached for the soap and a washcloth, lathered it up as well. Systematically he drew Charles’ limbs out of the water to scrub: arms first, extra attention on the tired hands and grubby cuticles; and then legs, working at Charles’ feet though he knew the other man couldn’t feel it. As he plunged his arm, shirt-sleeve rolled up to the elbow, into the water to wash Charles’ thighs he began to ponder (not for the first time, certainly) exactly where Charles could and could not feel. How he longed to know if his cock could rise to attention as readily as it once had; but not here, not now, he did not want it now. He made quick work of washing between Charles’ legs, perfunctory, clinical; then brought the cloth up to cleanse Charles’ belly and chest. Pebbled nipples. Just a little stray brush of his fingers there, entirely by accident. God how he missed this body writhing underneath him. 

When Charles was finally clean to Erik’s satisfaction he took a moment to admire his handiwork; this was good. But it could be better. He stood, making sure Charles was propped securely against the side of the tub, and rummaged around the cabinets near the sink until he found shaving cream and aftershave; and called with his mind for the metal of a razor, finding one desperately in need of a sharpening he was happy to oblige it with. 

“I hope you weren’t really trying for a beard,” he said conversationally, squirting some of the cream into a bowl to whip up into a lather with Charles’ brush. He spread it liberally over Charles’ chin and cheeks and then grasped the razor with his power, a much surer handle than his clumsy fingers could provide. The task of shaving Charles’ face was arduous because the last thing he wanted to do was knick the fragile skin of Charles’ beautiful face. And he was thorough; partly because Charles desperately needed to be cleaned and partly because he selfishly preferred Charles’ face to be smooth and boyish. When the razor was done he patted Charles’ now-smooth cheeks with a towel and applied the aftershave, the sharp, woody scent he had come to love, smelling it on Charles’ skin and on his own pillow. 

Task complete, he sat gingerly on the edge of the tub and guided his hand through Charles’ softened locks. Longer than he was used to, no less beautiful. How he would like to wrap his fingers into that mass of hair while he was fucking in to Charles from behind. Oh, God. 

“Not now,” he mumbled, then grinned because here he was, playing with Charles’ hair and talking to his own cock. 

“Why not now?” 

Erik jumped. “Charles? Oh, thank God…” 

Charles was looking up at him with eyes slitted the barest fraction. He blinked heavily. “My head is… killing me…” he grunted. “Don’t stop that, it feels lovely.” He pushed his head gently against Erik’s hand. “So, when do you suppose I’ll wake up from this?” 

“What?”

“Are you going to throw me into my bed and have your way with me afterward?” Charles’ eyes had drifted closed again, but the smile remained. “I like it when that happens. I don’t know what combination I took to get to this point… maybe it was the heavy drinking beforehand… but I’ll have to remember…” 

“Charles, you have to stop this— whatever you’re doing, whatever this is, it has to stop—”

“Oh, God, Erik, I don’t need your _advice_ now. Let’s just do this until I wake up, alright?” He brought one hand up out of the water and placed it on top of Erik’s hand, guiding it here and there, finding pressure points on his own scalp that made him shiver. 

“You’re not sleeping, Charles.” Erik leaned down over this man he loved, taking his fingers away from Charles’ hair to tangle with his hand instead. “Hank wrote to Raven and asked us to come.”

Silence. Then, startling blue eyes, murky now, popped open and fixed on him. “What?” 

“Raven and I came to see you.” Erik shrugged, smiled. “I’ve missed you.” He closed the gap between their mouths, a sloppy upside-down kiss and left them both breathless. “Stop trying to destroy yourself.” 

“You’re actually here?” Charles brought a hand to his own face, scrubbed at his eyes. “My head is killing me.”

“Well, you did consume a vast quantity of alcohol. And God knows what else.”

“Mind-altering drugs.”

“Very modern of you.”

“I try.” Then: “The water is getting cold.” 

Erik sighed through his nose, pulled a fluffy white towel down from the hanger. He dipped his arms back into the tub to heave Charles out and succeeded in getting soaked this time, but paid it no mind as he wrapped the towel around Charles’ bony shoulders. Careful not to look, just focused on the task at hand, tucking the towel down. 

“You don’t find me attractive anymore?” Charles asked petulantly, leaning his head down so that Erik could dry his hair with a fresh towel. 

“I’m glad you’re still holding to your promise not to read my mind,” Erik answered. Charles’ eyes flicked up to his, held them for a brief moment. A smile twisted the corner of his mouth. 

“Why? What would I see there?” 

Erik’s hands slowed until they were almost still, just barely squeezing the long strands of Charles’ hair. Opened his mind in the way Charles had taught him so long ago, the way that made him feel like his very soul was on display: projecting, for only Charles to see. And then he looked: the smooth white column of Charles’ neck, begging to be bitten. The constellations of freckles across his shoulders, each needing to be kissed. The tease of more, hidden beneath the oversized towel; the memory of stealing a brush against a hardened nipple while bathing Charles. The long slim legs. Oh, to have them wrapped around his waist— 

“I can’t do that anymore,” Charles cut in flatly, though Erik noted the pinkness rising high on his cheekbones. 

“I’m sure we could find a way, if you really wanted to,” Erik breathed, leaning down to nuzzle at the delicate shell of Charles’ ear. His imagination conjured images of Charles’ legs suspended by metal chains, adjusted at Erik’s will. Charles cleared his throat but didn’t interrupt the fantasy, blinking heavily, panting softly. “You still want me,” Erik whispered. 

“Who’s reading minds now?” Charles teased. He pulled an arm free of the towel to thread his fingers through Erik’s hair. 

They stayed like this for a long while, Erik gently rubbing Charles’ hair with the towel, Charles sighing softly. Neither spoke. Words bubbled up in Erik’s throat and he swallowed them back down, unsure of how welcome they would be, after all these years. There was a time when there were no secrets between them, when Charles knew his every thought not because of his telepathy but because Erik would tell him, eagerly and easily. Now what lay between their minds was a vast sea of emptiness and regret. 

Finally Charles withdrew his hand from Erik’s hair and pulled his head away. “Thank you, my friend. It doesn’t feel quite like a sledgehammer is banging on the inside of my skull anymore.” He turned a wry smile at Erik. “Now, I’m sorry to be an inconvenience to you, but you’ve separated me from my method of transport so…” He motioned around. “If you wouldn’t mind helping me back to my room to get dressed.” 

Erik nodded numbly. Charles’ words were so… detached. _Sorry to be an inconvenience_ … There was a time (a happier time) when those words would only have been spoken to Erik in the saltiest of tones, meant just to tease. Because Charles would have known then that there was no way he could ever have inconvenienced Erik; or, if it was an inconvenience, it didn’t matter: such was the ease between them that it precluded the need for apologies when one needed to ask something troublesome of the other. It was simply a given: _of course_ he would help Charles, whatever the inopportuneness of the situation for himself. _Of course_ Charles would reciprocate. 

Now there was just tension. 

He lifted Charles again and carried him back into the bedroom. It was orderly here; too orderly. Charles was always meticulously organized, but this room had the feel of disuse, as if Charles hadn’t slept here in weeks. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps he had been sleeping in the chair, head resting against the table. Perhaps he hadn’t been sleeping at all.

“I don’t think you’re intending to project all of that,” Charles said quietly. “But your concern is appreciated.” 

Erik made a grunt of agreement and sat Charles on the bed, arranging his legs to hang over the edge. “What do you want to wear?” He opened the wardrobe, finding it filled half with loud paisley-print shirts and colorful slacks, half with the clothes he remembered: white button-downs, dapper three-piece suits, cozy cardigans. His hands immediately reached to stroke the sleeve of one, enjoying the softness of the cashmere. 

“You clearly have a preference, so by all means, choose.” Charles flopped back onto the bed. The towel rode up, baring his long legs, slender and frail from disuse but no less beautiful. 

Erik chose. Soft blue cardigan, crisp white shirt; carefully creased gunmetal slacks. He pulled a pair underwear and silky black socks from a drawer and carried the collection to the bed, plopping it all down next to Charles. Charles made no move to reach for it. Erik picked the socks up and knelt on the floor, taking one foot in hand and slipping the sock over, then the other. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of one socked foot, knowing Charles wouldn’t feel it, and then felt like a massive pervert. 

Above him, Charles snorted but said nothing. 

Briefs next, over the feet, tugging them up Charles’ unmoving legs, up under the damp towel. If his hands lingered longer than necessary around Charles’ trim waist, well, he couldn’t really be blamed for that. Or for the way his fingers skated back over the fabric instead of pulling away, making a show of adjusting the elastic around Charles’ thighs. A hiss from above, slight arch of the back. Oh. So Charles was sensitive here. If Erik were to press a kiss just here, against the juncture of thigh and hip, brush the coarseness of his cheek against it— 

“ _Yesss_ ,” Charles hissed, and moved his hand down to Erik’s hair again, gripping much more tightly this time. 

So Erik did, planting small pecks against the elastic bands around Charles’ legs, nuzzling into that warm vee. Charles was quiet, but his hand was insistent, urging. 

Until it wasn’t; and then he was twisting his fingers harshly enough that Erik grunted and pulled away, frowning up at him. 

Icy blue eyes met his. “Are you going to fuck me and make it all better, Erik?” Charles asked. Snide. “And then what? You’ll leave again, and take Raven with you?”

Erik sighed and pulled himself up on the bed alongside Charles. “What happened to you?” he asked sadly. He brushed a hand through Charles’ hair. 

“I got shot,” Charles answered. “And then the man I loved left with my sister, and the only time I heard of them after that was when they were doing their best to destroy everything I was working for.” The bitterness laced through his voice stabbed at Erik. 

“Charles, I— we—”

“Are you fucking her now?” 

“What?”

“Are you fucking Raven? How does she compare?”

Erik sat upright, glaring down. “How can you ask that?” he spat. “You know—”

“I don’t know anything,” Charles answered, impassive. He reached for the button-down shirt, made a show of peeling away the towel. A sardonic laugh: “Least of all you.” 

“I’m still me,” Erik said softly. “You’re the one who changed.” 

“I reached for you.” Charles’ voice was just as soft as he struggled to tug the shirt on. “So many times. But you with your _helmet_ , I’m sure you couldn’t feel it at all.”

“I felt it.”

The look in Charles’ eyes when he looked at Erik was so sad that he almost had to turn away. But then the sadness slipped away, hidden under a layer of cool detachment. “If you want to fuck me, fuck me.” He dropped back onto the bed, one arm in a sleeve. 

“Charles.” Erik leaned down, pressed their foreheads together. They were so close that their eyelashes touched when they blinked, butterflies kissing butterflies. “Charles, I miss you. I still love—”

Charles scowled and turned away. “You can fuck me, but don’t talk to me about love.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik breaks out the chess set.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to update... see my username though :P   
> next chapter is ready, just need to finish editing. So maybe tonight.

They ate dinner together.

No. They sat around the table together, listening to the grating clink of silverware on china and overly forceful chewing. They didn’t talk. They cleared their throats and sighed and said “um” without adding any actual words. 

Erik looked at Charles. Charles stared into his plate like it was the void of eternity. Hank and Sean and the few of Charles’ older students who had joined them studiously avoided making eye contact with anything other than their food.

Raven felt like she was being slowly driven out of her skull. A twitch was forming in her eye that surely portended severe health problems. 

“Are we just not going to talk about any of this?” she finally snapped at the room at large. 

“Excuse us,” said one of the students, jumping up and motioning for the others to follow— which they did, seeming grateful. 

Her dining companions apparently took the bustling of the students as they left the room as an excuse to pretend she hadn’t said anything, but that wasn’t going to fly. 

“No. Really. We’re _going_ to talk about this.” She turned a pointed look at Charles. “Drugs, Charles? Seriously? The drinking and the womanizing were one thing but—”

It was Erik who said, “Raven. Don’t.” Charles didn’t react at all.

So she glared at Erik instead. “Don’t ‘don’t’ me, _Magneto_ , you’re just as upset as I am. Look, Charles. I know things haven’t been the best for you, but you have to admit that they could be a whole hell of a lot worse—“ And then, just like that, she was completely unable to speak. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. The only thing that gave away Charles’ influence was a tiny crease in his brow. Everyone else at the table looked at her, surprised. It was over as soon as it had begun: her voice came back all at once and she sputtered out what sounded like every word she’d built up during her silence, all at once. “That’s a nice trick, Charles,” she muttered indignantly. 

Charles moved his wheelchair back from the table and rolled out the door. He had never even looked up from his plate. And he had never actually eaten anything, either. 

“That’s normal?” she asked, shooting her most scathing look at Sean and Hank. 

Hank nodded. “More or less. Honestly I have no idea how he manages to stay alive.” 

“And that’s _OKAY_?! You don’t CARE?” She realized that she was shouting, that Charles and the children could probably hear, but none of that mattered. She was seconds away from leaping across the table and assaulting Hank with her butter knife. “Why didn’t you ever do anything?!”

“We did.” Sean’s eyes were sad. “We tried for years. And it just got worse and worse.”

“Why do you think I finally asked you to come?” Hank added, blue eyes scanning her face. “We don’t make a habit of inviting people who try to kill us into our home. It was the last hope we had. And I guess that’s not going to work either. You might as well leave.” He rose from table, his chair giving a horrible scrape across the floor. “Goodnight, Raven. Um. Magneto.” 

Sean followed him out of the room, leaving her alone with Erik. She wanted to glare at him, but when she looked across the table, the heartbroken expression he wore so openly as he stared at Charles’ empty spot weakened her resolve. “Erik,” she sighed, reaching her hand out, palm up, on the table. He didn’t look at her; but after a long moment he reached out and rested his palm against hers. “We can fix him.” 

Erik snorted. “We can’t even fix ourselves.”

“Well, we can fix him. It will be easier.” Erik’s eyes flicked over to her, sardonic. “Because we care more about him than we do about ourselves.” 

Clearly Erik knew better than to argue with that.

+++

Charles was in exactly the same position that Erik had found him in earlier that day: hunched over in the chair, staring at nothing. At least this time there weren’t any empty syringes laying on the table, only beer bottles and an empty tumbler. Erik took that as a small victory as he strode across the room and summary swept the lot of it off onto the floor, where it exploded in a mess of multicolored shards. Charles couldn’t help but jump at that, and Erik took that as a victory too. Any response was better than none. 

He took the chess set from under his arm, flicking open the clasps and extracting the pieces. If Charles recognized this particular set he didn’t show it, but Erik knew he had to have: he’d commissioned it just for Erik, beautiful metal pieces with clean sharp lines. They had enjoyed this set rather more than they should have, when Charles discovered that Erik could feel the metal in Charles’ hand, the warmth of his palm, the way he would stroke his blunt fingertips over the angles while contemplating his next move… the way he had put one into his mouth and sucked on it, and how it had felt like he was licking Erik’s very nerves raw…

“I recall that I won that match,” Charles said. There was none of the playfulness in those words that there should have been, but it made Erik smile anyway. 

“You cheated.” Once the pieces were set he pulled a chair over, opposite Charles. 

“You’re not going to let me pick a color?”

“That seems a little redundant,” Erik answered. Of course Charles would be white. Or, in this case, silver.

They sat. Erik waited. Charles stared at the table. Or at least at the air in front of the table. 

“Your move, Charles,” Erik finally prodded, gently. 

Blinking, Charles raised his hand and nudged a pawn carelessly. Erik sighed loudly through his nose and made his move. After another long stretch of nothingness he prompted Charles again, and again Charles moved a pawn. 

It went on like this. Pointless. He scooped up Charles’ pieces without any kind of reaction from the other man, and by the next move Charles would have put another soldier directly into the line of fire. When finally he couldn’t stand it anymore, Erik opened the case up and began chucking the pieces back in. Charles watched; or stared in his direction. When the set was packed up he stood, heels crunching the glass on the floor. 

“I’ll… Sorry about the mess,” he muttered. 

He was all the way to the door when he heard a voice, so small it was barely perceptible; except it was inside his head, tickling the area between his ears in that way that only telepathy could. “Don’t go.”

So he turned around, and crunched his way back across the room, and sat down again. 

And sat.

And sat.

And when he woke up, the grey light of morning filtered in around the heavy curtains, and every joint in his body screamed in agony when he tried to move. And Charles’ eyes were still open, as if he hadn’t slept at all.


	4. Chapter 4

The beauty of Charles being in a wheelchair was that Erik could simply move him about at will.

Well, that wasn’t really true. Charles could be completely immobile and if he really didn’t want to go somewhere, there was no way Erik or anyone else could force him. But in his current not-quite-catatonic state, he didn’t put up any resistance when Erik took hold of the handles on his chair and maneuvered him outside after breakfast (which lay cold on his plate, untouched).

They strolled along the grounds, earning some curious looks from the students, though no one was brave enough to say anything. Erik wondered how much they knew about him; how much they knew about Charles and him together. He finally stopped when they were deep into the garden maze, putting Charles’ chair alongside a stone bench and settling down next to him. 

Charles’ hands lay on his lap atop his throw, pale and unmoving; it took everything in Erik’s power to not reach out and hold them, to bring one of them to his mouth and kiss the palm. But he couldn’t.

With nothing else to do, and unable to find a tone for their silence that felt amiable, he started talking. He told Charles about his and Raven’s daily life; the companions they’d amassed and lost over the years, the great plans that had risen and fallen. He was sure that Charles knew most of it already, if not all; and a lot of it was extremely uninteresting, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do or say. He was babbling about his plans to build an advanced fortress somewhere in Canada (which was definitely not something he needed Charles to know) when he a hand gently settled over his on the edge of the bench. He hadn’t realized he was gripping it quite that hard. 

“Charles,” he said, looking over at his friend. Charles was looking at him now, actually focused on him; he wasn’t sure that had really happened since they had arrived yesterday, and it felt… intense. Charles’ gaze had always had that effect. Without thinking, he leaned forward, brushing his lips against Charles’. He didn’t exactly kiss back, but there was a soft intake of breath and then a little sigh that told Erik that his kiss wasn’t entirely unwelcome. 

When they parted, Erik was almost positive that he saw a small smile on Charles’ lips. Almost. 

“I’d like to go back inside,” Charles said softly. Erik nodded and resumed his position behind the chair, returning them to the house in silence. 

+++

Some gleeful part of Charles was glad when he felt the sadness rolling off of Raven and Erik. They deserved it. They had abandoned him.

And then the rest of him was even more miserable— for this bit of schadenfreude, for their misery, on top of his own crushing depression. It weighed on him not only from the outside, pressing down like a ton of bricks, but also on the inside: as if cement was slowly filling his lungs, his stomach, his arteries; and soon he would be unable to move at all. 

Erik sat across from him in the study, reading aloud from a book. He had brought lunch up and did his damnedest to force Charles to eat (and honestly, Charles knew he must have eaten sometime recently—by merit of the fact that he wasn’t dead—but he couldn’t recall exactly when). Erik told him about current events that just made him angry, and stories that would have made him laugh if he had the willpower to do so. Erik talked. Erik laughed. Erik cried. Erik. Erik. 

“Erik.” 

Grey eyes fixed on him. Lips parted. He’d been in the middle of a sentence, hadn’t he? 

“Take me to bed.” 

So Erik lifted him out of the chair as he had the afternoon before, when Charles had been deep within his stupor—but not so deep that he couldn’t remember it now, which meant the drugs were surely not strong enough—and carried him into the bedroom. Sat him on the edge of the bed, untied his shoes and set them aside carefully, as if it really mattered whether they were lined up. Charles hauled his useless legs up on the bed one at a time and shuffled himself up toward the pillows, carefully avoiding Erik’s face because he had no interest in seeing the look of pity there. He’d had rather his share of pity. Enough to last several lifetimes. 

But the emotion that Erik was projecting (carelessly, selfishly) wasn’t pity. It was adoration. A little taste of empathy mixed in, the general sadness that Erik seemed to wear liked a neatly-fitted jacket; but mostly adoration. Thick enough that it made Charles feel like he was drowning. 

Once he was finally on his side in a comfortable position, facing Erik, he said, “Are you staying or not?” 

Erik hastily kicked off his own shoes and rolled onto the bed, reaching for Charles. He stopped before making contact, eyes full of doubt. With a sigh Charles took hold of his hand and brought it down against his own waist. With difficulty he tucked his body against Erik’s. 

He had almost forgotten this comfort, to simply be held, fully dressed. To be safe within strong arms. After a long moment his eyes began to fall shut, and he felt Erik’s lips against his forehead, the softest of kisses. 

“I don’t love you anymore,” Charles breathed, quiet as a secret. 

Erik’s lips remained against his forehead, unmoving. Totally silent. Charles began to wonder if he’d even heard, and reached out and brushed Erik’s mind with his own, finding it abuzz with a thousand different thoughts, none of them clear; but all of them rotating around a single axis: _Charles._

“I know,” Erik said, a fraction of a second before Charles drifted off into sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn, sorry about the late update!! ...I'm behind schedule as usual...

Erik awoke with a start to find the room pitch-black, nightmares clinging to him like cobwebs that only became more entangled the harder he tried to shake them off. The pain had been intense, and real; but it was not his pain. It was not his memory. Next to him Charles blinked awake and the nightmare dissipated. 

It had been Charles’ dream, unconsciously telegraphed to the room at large: his heartbreak, his spinal cord being severed, his downfall. 

So frequently in their time together Erik had unintentionally projected his nightmares onto Charles; for the first time, he knew what that felt like. To feel Charles’ deepest agonies. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around the other man, tucked him close. 

“What?” Charles mumbled, pushing away sleepily. 

Erik couldn’t think of a way to answer; this throat was closed around the intensity of his need to protect Charles. If Charles read it on him, there was no response. No response at all. It was driving Erik mad; perhaps fevered nightmares were preferable. 

“Oh.” Charles yawned. “Pushed a nightmare on you? Sorry.” His eyes were falling shut again. Face expressionless, emotionless. 

That was Erik’s area, not Charles’. Charles was vibrant and full of life and— 

Without thinking Erik pushed Charles onto his back, rolling over on top of him. Arms and thighs caging him on either side, like that would hold Charles in place. One cerulean eye cracked open, cloudy with sleep. A quirk of those red, red lips. “Are you going to ravish me?”

“Shut up,” Erik grunted, and crushed his mouth against Charles’. 

Of course that had never worked with the telepath: lips sealed, Charles was free to make jabs at him inside his brain, goad him on: _What’s the matter, Erik? You don’t like me anymore? Maybe you can fix me._ There was a sadness mixed in there that Erik wasn’t entirely sure he was supposed to be seeing. He licked into Charles’ mouth with perhaps more intensity than necessary and Charles’ telepathy short-circuited for a moment, sending only a shockwave of lust through Erik’s brain that mingled with his own and made him groan. 

_I can’t do much for you, but I can do this,_ he thought, as loudly as he could, wondering if it sounded like a scream to Charles. He broke the kiss and sucked violently on Charles’ neck, along his moonlight-limned shoulders, mapping the constellation of familiar freckles and unfamiliar scars along his arms. Charles was radiating a drowsy desire, slow moving but molten. His hands smoothed over Erik’s shoulders and back, just touching, neither encouraging nor discouraging. When Erik bit at a nipple he hissed softly and arched his back just slightly, and Erik took the hint and brought his other hand up to pinch and tease, working both nubs to hard points. He licked them and blew on them and earned his first moan from Charles. It made him feel stupidly proud. 

_Have you forgotten? I’m quite easy, darling, that’s not much of a victory,_ Charles thought venomously. 

_I’m just getting started,_ Erik taunted right back. He gave each nipple a sharp bite for punishment before nuzzling his way down to the trail of Charles’ pubic thatch, inhaling deeply; the scent of it made him dizzy with nostalgia, remembering the first time he’d gotten on his knees to suck desperately on Charles’ cock, when he’d wallowed in shame but begged for it anyway. 

“I remember,” Charles said, knotting a hand in Erik’s hair. It felt too good for Erik to make a remark about Charles staying out of his thoughts. “I remember when you were too frightened of your own feelings to even think about coming on to me, and you—”

The rest of his sentence was lost in a deep groan as Erik sucked the head of his cock into his mouth, lapping at the slit and teasing at the foreskin. _Finally,_ Erik thought to himself, careful to keep it locked away where Charles couldn’t read without trying; _finally he shut up._

Indeed the only sounds in the room after that were Charles’ shallow breaths and slight gasps, and the sloppy wet sound of Erik’s mouth and hand working on his cock. When he felt the slow undulation of Charles’ hips stop, balls drawing up tight, he pulled away with a pop, squeezing his fist tightly over Charles’ dick. 

“Damnit, Erik!” Charles grunted, trying to thrust, trying to get traction. Erik knew— they both knew— that if his legs had been able to move he would have been able to kick off with them, maybe force his cock up through Erik’s fist enough to come. Erik wondered if he was being cruel, but the desperate mewl that escaped Charles’ throat washed all coherent thought away. “Fuck me now, fuck me,” Charles hissed, pulling at Erik’s sweat-slick hair. 

With that kind of encouragement Erik certainly wasn’t going to waste time. He leaned over and dug a bottle of lubricant out of Charles’ nightstand drawer, trying hard not to fumble in his haste to get the cap off and grease his fingers up. Charles was tight, incredibly so; and he clenched even more at the slightest touch of Erik’s finger, little pink hole flinching away as if shy. _How long has it been,_ Erik wondered, _since he’s had someone?_ Had Erik been the last? Had it been years since the last time he’d been breached? He teased the pad of one finger over the pucker, admiring Charles’ soft sounds of need, before gently nudging inside. The fire in his belly had been somewhat banked; now he just sought to stretch Charles well, make it good for him. He worked slowly, carefully. Drew Charles’ mouth to his in a messy kiss when the stretch became more pain than pleasure, kissed away the discomfort. Four fingers were pumping slickly in and out of Charles’ passage before he was satisfied with his work, and by then Charles was shaking with it, with all his pent up want and need. 

_NOW,_ came the command, directly into Erik’s cortex. It made him shiver, to feel Charles putting orders inside his head again after all these years. He pushed that thought to Charles: how much he liked it, having Charles’ consciousness playing inside his mind like that, teasing him with invisible fingers along the pleasure center of his brain. Charles responded with a guttural groan and a warm brush of his lust against Erik’s and they both shook with the intensity of it. Erik pulled Charles’ limp legs apart, putting his clenching, slick hole on display, then stroked his lubed hand along his cock and lined up. He slipped along the crack of Charles’ buttocks once before finally pushing in past the loosened barrier. Even after all that work the passage was incredibly tight; Erik had never felt Charles this tight, and remembered ruefully that the telepath had been quite a playboy when Erik had first met him. 

_You mean I was a slut._ Charles’ voice stabbed viciously into his brain and his hips stuttered as he lost his pace. _Don’t worry, Erik. Not many people want to fuck me anymore._

Erik growled and bit down into Charles’ shoulder, _hard_ , drawing blood; at the same time he pushed all the way home, fitting his balls up against Charles’ ass. Instantly Charles’ voice retracted from his mind and he was flooded instead with the mixture of their lust and longing. The telepath’s fingernails dug crescent moons into his shoulders as he withdrew, slowly, and pushed back in, enjoying the drag of Charles’ entrance around his cock, taking a moment to glance down and appreciate the image of it. He offered the thought up for Charles: Erik’s prick, thick and glistening, sliding out of reddened stretch of Charles’ own asshole, before disappearing inside again, deeper and deeper until they were flush against one another. And then he withdrew again. 

The pace was torture. Sweat broke out on his forehead and dribbled down onto Charles, who was too lust-addled to care, eyes clenched shut and one hand twisting his own hair brutally. Erik pressed his hand against the one in Charles’ long locks and untangled it, smoothed his fingers softly through the strands instead. He caught Charles up in another tender kiss, then another, and another, their mouths parting with a sweet smack every time.

_Harder,_ Charles thought. _Faster. You’re too slow. FUCK ME._

Erik obliged, speeding up his pace to a mindless rut, unable to do more than pant and piston his hips. The tightness of Charles around him, the heat, the smell of his sweat and skin; it was everything Erik had needed, had missed so much for so long. It was everything. 

Beneath him Charles growled and dug his nails into Erik’s back again, both hands. Erik hissed and threw his head back, pushing up off the bed to change his angle, pulling Charles’ legs up around him. He knew he’d found his target when Charles suddenly gasped and dragged his nails down Erik’s back, deep enough that Erik could smell the iron in his own blood. He aimed for that spot over and over, hitting Charles’ prostate relentlessly until the other man was a quivering mess below him; and then he took the ruddy, leaking cock twitching against Charles’ belly in his hand and fisted it roughly. 

It was only a couple of strokes before Charles fell apart, shooting cum across his own stomach and chest, painting his pebbled pink nipples white. The clench and release of his asshole around Erik drove him over the edge and he came deep inside, bowing his back and crying out. It was a ragged sound, ripped from his very core. 

Afterward he sagged against Charles, mouthing absently at the bruises on smooth column of his neck, knowing his stubble would leave burns. He said nothing, but he couldn’t control the way he felt; the way his adoration for this man bubbled over and threatened to drown him. Whatever pain, whatever heartache lay between them, right now they were together, and Erik could cry from joy. 

After a moment he realized Charles had gone entirely still under him. Drawing back he saw that the pale blue eyes had gone distant again, lips drawn into a thin line. Emotions shuttered. Erik withdrew from the motionless body and it felt clinical, sterile. Charles turned his head away, though Erik thought he saw the shine of moisture collected in his eyes before he did, noted the flare of his nostrils. 

“You can get out of my bed now,” Charles said in a voice rough as sandpaper. When Erik remained above him, not touching but encasing him all the way around, he lashed out, palm connecting with Erik’s cheekbone with enough force to knock his his head to the side and set his ear ringing. “I said _get out._ ” 

“Charles, don’t do this,” Erik pleaded, pressing his hand to his throbbing cheek. “Let me give you what I can—”

“This is what you can give me? _This?!_ A quick fuck?”

“It wasn’t particularly quick,” Erik grumbled. 

Charles’ lips trembled despite his best efforts to keep them firmly shut, and Erik understood: he wanted Erik to leave before he broke down. There had been a time, when they had held one another and kissed away every tear between them, when they washed away sadness with unbridled affection. There had been a time. 

And that time had passed. 

“More accurately, you threw that time away—” Charles hiccuped and glared at the wall opposite them, clearly angry at himself for making the sound. “Threw it away without even looking back.”

“I looked back,” Erik said desperately, trying to tell him, to _reach_ him. “I have missed you more than—”

“I always expected you to come back,” Charles continued softly. “I thought that you would choose me in the end.” 

Erik’s throat closed and he found that even swallowing was impossible. He drew in a ragged breath, couldn’t find his voice. _I can’t,_ he thought at Charles instead, embroidering it with all the apology and despair that coursed through his veins. _I love you, but I can’t come back to you. Not yet._

“Then you should never have come here,” Charles said. His voice was even and detached, though an errant tear slid down his cheek. 

“Why?” Erik asked, and he hadn’t meant it to come out as a sob. “Why can we not be together, if only for a while?” He brought his hand to Charles’ chin and forced the other man to look him in the eye. 

“If you want me, stay with me.” The words were barely a whisper, a ghost of a sound. “If you don’t want me, let me go.” 

Erik was only able to hold his gaze for a moment before the intensity of the sadness in Charles’ eyes forced him to look away. Immediately he could feel Charles slipping away, withdrawing to the place Erik couldn’t reach. It was like trying to hold onto sand: the more he grasped at it the less he was able to contain. When he looked back at those blue eyes they had gone cold and distant, unseeing, and he dressed and withdrew from the room knowing that Charles wasn’t even present there anymore.


End file.
